Damage Control
by Sebe
Summary: Season 7. Sam becomes who he was meant to be to save them. To save them all. Unstable!Powers!Sam. Protective!Dean and Bobby.


Summary: Season 7. Sam becomes who he was meant to be to save them. To save them all.

Author's Notes: So Sam's always been powerful, and it's always been his. He couldn't understand for a long time and when he did some time after the wall broke, he was terrified that using his powers, doing what he knew he could do, would tear Dean away from him permanently.

**Damage Control**

"I can fix it."

In all the confusion and impending death, Dean almost misses his brother's soft words, even this close, crouched down next to him.

"What?"

Sam looks as unhinged as he's been the last few days, but now there's a clarity, a presence in his voice that makes Dean take notice. Sam's twisting and scratching at his fingers and Dean reaches out to stop him, afraid of hearing a bone snap again. Sam won't look at him, all nervous energy. No, not nervous, he's scared.

"I can fix it." Sam says again. "…But I kind of don't want to."

Sam glances quickly up at Dean and back and Dean sees it.

Sam's scared of him. Not physically, but he's afraid that Dean will be angry at whatever he's talking about. More lights burst above them, showering glass and Dean does his best to shield Sam.

Bobby, ineffectual pistol trained on their demonic adversary, curses. Crowley, smug bastard that he is, stands perfectly content a few feet away as the rumbling intensifies and Dean swears he can feel the black clouds of demons about to swarm in here and-

There's no time. If Dean was ever going to trust Sam, prove it to him, he had to do it now. He forces a steadiness into his voice that he doesn't feel, but there's no less urgency.

"Sam. Sam, listen to me." He grasps his brother's face between his shaking hands. They're going to die, finally bring Bobby down with them if something doesn't change _right now_. "Sammy. Whatever you think you can do…if you think you can fix this…I trust you, Sammy. You hear me, little brother? I trust you. Nothing you could ever do, nothing, will ever make me hate you." Because at the base of everything, that is their greatest fear. Losing each other on every level. There's a cautious hope in Sam's eyes. "You understand?"

The rumbling of the encroaching hoard gets worse, anarchy incarnate, shaking even Bobby, though only the boys would be able to tell. Crowley gives into the cliché triumphant evil laugh that Dean's sure he's been waiting to break out for awhile now. But none of that matters or even registers much.

Because Dean's looking at Sam and Sam is perfectly calm. He nods at Dean, assured now that he's loved no matter what by the only person it's ever really meant anything coming from.

Sam stands and Dean lets him, right at his side. Sam faces an amused Crowley. The demon is utterly confident looking at the three of them, his army on the way and tear tracks still drying on Sam's face. Maybe Dean's too. Bobby, their ever faithful, loving guardian standing with them, ready for whatever's next. Sam speaks, looking right at Crowley.

"You may run Hell, but you have no right to it. You were only convenience in chaos." The rumbling of the demonic armies begins to quiet and the smile on Crowley's face falters for the first time. "There's an order to things far older and stronger than you. Lines of ascension can't be broken. You-" Sam tilts his head a bit, studying Crowley like a bug, an inconsequential curiosity. There's something like pity there and that is all Dean needs to know this is still Sammy. Everything has gone still. No smiling now. Now there's fear. "Are nothing."

Sam's fingers twitch and Crowley doesn't explode. He simply ceases to be, a black burned marking on the ground and some tailored Italian suit threads all the remains of the thorn in their side.

It's long moments before anyone speaks, Bobby and Dean shocked into silence. Sam has his head bowed, grip on reality slipping a bit now that there's no immediate threat, no adrenaline driving him. His voice has a slight tremble to it that matches his hands which he has palms up in front of him, staring at them intently, curiously, like he's not sure they really belong to him.

"It's mine. Always. Since before I was even born. First I didn't know, didn't want to know. And then…" Some of the distress edges back into Sam's voice. "Didn't want it. Never wanted it. Never wanted you to look at me like…"

'_Monster, demon, devil, freakfreakfreak-'_

Dean grabs Sam's shaking hands in his. Sam looks up in surprise.

Green eyes are soft as his voice, quiet and okay and loving.

"Tell me what I'm looking at you like right now."

'_Strong, survivor, savior, brother, mine.'_

Sam's almost too scared to hope this is real. He glances at Bobby and sees the same thing as in Dean. Maybe a little more cautious (paranoid bastard), but no less accepting and proud.

New tears fill Sam's eyes. They don't hug and sob on each other's shoulder because it's not who they are. Their kind of bond could never be expressed with so casual and temporary an act, would never do it justice.

Sam stumbles over words, only beginning to try and explain.

"Dean, I'm-"

"My brother." Said without hesitation. "And whatever else, we'll figure out later."

Just because you're entitled to rule Hell doesn't mean you're free from its effects. Sam's still shaky and raw, broken in so many ways. He always will be. But Dean's here; broken in his own myriad ways but balancing Sam perfectly.

Sam doesn't say anything, just smiles as the brothers (because it could never be just Sam or just Dean) become something a little more than human in a crappy warehouse in the middle of nowhere Kansas; the most crochity, loyal hunter they've ever known looking on with a smile.

For the first time in a long time, maybe even their whole lives, the Winchesters are free.


End file.
